


Do You Trust Me?

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Disney, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I guess sometimes I just feel so—"</p><p>"You just end up feeling—"</p><p>"Trapped."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Trust Me?

**Author's Note:**

> **Anonymous prompted:** now i kinda want an aladdin/klaine au o.o

"I want to thank you for stopping that man."

Blaine jerks back a bit, blushing and shaking his head.

"I-it was nothing." He smiles and turns away, hands opening to catch the wooden pole that Wes tosses to him. It’s routine; a few steps and he’s vaulting over to the next building with a skill that only comes from years of practice. “So this is your first time in the village, huh?" He looks back over at the mysterious, beautiful stranger, who ducks his head.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you do kind of stand out," Blaine says as he lines up the board to bridge the gap. As if he realizes he’s said it, he looks over at the boy with wide eyes and the boy just stares back and smile shyly; Blaine ducks his head and breaks the contact. He focuses on the board as he tries to place it as steadily and safely as possible. “You don’t seem to know how dangerous the village can be, though."

He’s startled to hear the soft touch of boots against stone behind him and when he turns, there’s the stranger again, holding one of his carved wooden pulls and smirking.

"I’m a fast learner." He tosses it to Blaine who catches it easily, mouth hanging open slightly; he shares a look with Wes before scrambling away from the wall and towards his fascination. Wes makes noises of annoyance behind him but Blaine ignores it; the monkey isn’t used to sharing his attention, after all.

"Come on." Blaine’s voice is quiet and he tentatively reaches for the man’s hand; it’s smooth in a way Blaine’s hands will never be after his life on the streets, and he can’t help but wonder where this stranger comes from. “This way."

Blaine leads him to a narrow gap in a wall that leads to steps that are worn with use and age and almost unclimbable from the debris that hangs down from the wooden roof and rafters. But Blaine moves through it easily, just as he’s done for many years now, and navigates the stranger with patience and kindness and the occasional, “watch your head."

"This is where you live?" The stranger asks in awe, looking around, and Blaine winces a bit.

"Yeah…" He admits a bit hesitantly. “Just me and Wes, for a long time." They reach solid ground but Blaine doesn’t let go of the stranger’s hand; he really has no desire to. It’s only a single room, all stone, with wooden boards and heavy sheets of wool hanging over any holes. It’s cool in the summer and warm enough in the winter and, when it comes down to it, that’s what really matters.

"We do what we want, come and go when we please, and no one really bother’s us… But no one really knows we’re here, either." Blaine presses a finger to his lips and the stranger smiles.

"It sounds… Amazing." And he honestly sounds like he believes it. Blaine would never describe his life or situation as amazing, and here’s someone telling him that it is.

"It’s not much," Blaine admits with a shrug, leading him over to one of the heavy pieces of wool. He looks at the stranger, eyes alight with excitement, before pulling the cloth back with a flourish. “But it’s got a great view."

The view is the one thing that keeps Blaine’s hopes up. He can see every thatched, wooden, and slated roof of the village, sprawled in it’s haphazard streets in every direction. It’s more beautiful at night, and maybe the stranger (eventually Blaine will ask his name, he  _will_ ) will have a chance to see it. But the most beautiful thing about his view is the way the castle is backlit by the sky and sparkles, tall and beautiful, in all it’s glory. Blaine loves to watch the sun sink behind it and dye the white and silver spires every color of the rainbow and the way the thousands of windows sparkle like stars against the black of night.

"Pretty amazing, huh?" Blaine leans against the eroding stone that form his window, his eyes wistful as he stares out at the village and the castle. “It’s probably the best view of the palace in all of Brymmel."

"Yeah… It’s great."

Blaine turns back to look at the stranger, who has hunched in on himself almost defensively. He doesn’t sound nearly as impressed by the view as Blaine has hoped he would, but, then again, not everyone is as obsessed with the palace as Blaine is. The stranger leans back against the wall so that his gaze no longer looks out the window and Blaine eyes him curiously.

"I guess I’m kind of obsessed with it," he admits with a sheepish shrug and a blush. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live there… To have servants, valets, whatever they’re called." It’s not like Blaine would have anyway of knowing.

This seems to catch the stranger’s attention, though, because he looks over at Blaine with a deep sadness in his eyes that makes Blaine’s heart hurt. But it disappears, replaced with a sort of contempt that Blaine can’t wrap his head around.

"Sure… People who tell you where to go, how to act, how to  _dress_." The stranger’s fingers pluck distastefully at the the cloak that’s wrapped rather securely around him, still obscuring more of his face than Blaine would like but it’s not as if it would be polite to ask him to  _remove_  it. Not that politeness is very valued on the streets; stealing something and saying thank you does not negate the act of stealing, after all.

"Well," Blaine hedges carefully, turning away from the window. “It’s better than here?" He tries, attempting to smile. “I mean, we’re always scrounging for food and ducking from guards and trying not to freeze to death in the winter."

The stranger’s eyebrows draw back in a look that Blaine can only describe as  _sympathy_ , which makes something strange settle in Blaine’s stomach. It’s been a long time since someone’s looked at him like that—like they care.

But the moment disappears and the stranger turns his too-blue eyes away again.

"You’re… Never free to make your own choices," he says quietly, fingers folding together and face cast in shadow. Lack of freedom? Blaine can relate a bit. He has freedom to an extent, but it’s not like he could go walking through the marketplace like anyone else; he’d be in shackles within moments.

"I guess sometimes I just feel so—"

"You just end up feeling—"

"Trapped," they say, simultaneously, and they both turn to stare at each other with wide eyes. It lasts for a few moments and the stranger breaks first, his lips turning up into a smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes and takes Blaine’s breath away; he can’t help but smile back, wondering if the beating of his heart is in anyway audible.

The moment hangs heavy in the air and then Blaine glances away, rubbing at the back of his neck and coughing to clear his throat. He reaches into the basket hanging on the wall for something to distract him, pulling out the last two of his apples. He internally sighs; looks like he’ll be going back to the market again soon. Apples are surprisingly hard to steal.

Wes chatters at him eagerly but Blaine frowns, shaking his head.  _We have a guest_ , he tries to convey with his eyes, but Wes just frowns deeply at him.

"So…" He coughs again, because his voice comes out a little higher than he intends. “Where are you from?" He rolls the apple down his arm (and is maybe showing off, maybe just a little) and the stranger catches it in surprise, turning his head and smiling over at him before the question seems to sink in.

"It doesn’t matter," he mutters darkly. “I ran away and I am  _not_  going back."

Blaine pauses, a bite of apple in his mouth, and lets the stranger’s words sink in. They sound so… Final. And  _angry_. He swallows and leans down to offer the rest of his apple to Wes, who turns his nose up at the gesture. Even living off scraps, the monkey has always been kind of a snob.

"Really?" Blaine moves closer, hesitating for a moment before sliding down the wall until he’s seated on the ground next to his guest. There’s a bit of berth between them, and it’s certainly not the closest they’ve been since Blaine had swept him away from the marketplace, but it still feels so intimate. “Why? What happened?" His voice drops quieter as if the lack of space requires a more intimate tone.

The stranger turns to look at him, face open in surprise.

"It’s… My father, he…" The stranger sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose, apple still gripped loosely in his other hand. “He’s forcing me to get married."

 _Married_.

Something unpleasant clogs itself in Blaine’s throat and he has to clear it again.

"That’s… I’m so sorry, that’s horrible. No wonder you ran away." Blaine looks at the stranger, eyebrows drawn in concern and still the man looks at him as if it’s a novel concept. Blaine opens his mouth to say something else—anything else that might keep them talking—when a flash of grey fur catches his attention.

"Wes!" Blaine hisses as the monkey tries to grab the stranger’s apple and the stranger laughs in surprise as the monkey propels himself away, screeching in annoyance. “Don’t be rude!"

The stranger is smiling, so at least Wes hasn’t ruined anything. Still, he chatters at Blaine the way he normally does— _that’s **our**  food, you are sharing  **our**  food with some stranger! They might not even be trustworthy, Blaine, do you ever think of that? You see a pair of pretty eyes and a set of lips and suddenly you’re leading some elfling back to our home!_

Blaine frowns and is surprised when the stranger is peering around him at the very exasperated monkey.

"What is he saying?"

_Go ahead and tell him what I’m saying, that food-stealing, two-legged, mentally deficient_ _—_

"He says that’s not fair," Blaine says instead, turning to look at the stranger. He’s so close now that Blaine can smell him—something sweet and clean and unlike anything Blaine has ever smelt anywhere on the streets. He resists the urge to lean forward and bury his face in the fabric of the hood, trying to imprint the scent into his mind.

"Really?"

The stranger clearly doesn’t believe a word of it, but he plays along, twisting the apple in his hands and glancing up at Blaine through his eyelashes.

"O-of course."

"And does  _Wes_  have anything else to say?" His eyes are dancing with mirth as he looks at Blaine and Blaine wants to be closer, to press his forehead to the stranger’s and stare into the shimmering colors of his eyes for as long as he’s allowed.

"He… He wishes there was something he could do to help," Blaine murmurs quietly and he hears Wes muttering in the background and ignores it. “He wishes he could take all the sadness and pain out of your eyes." Blaine hesitates and then moves his hand, brushing it against the stranger’s cheek and marveling at how much softer it is than he’d imagined.

The stranger’s mouth falls open a bit and his eyes search Blaine’s uncertainly.

"That’s…" He’s leaning in and Blaine is leaning in to meet him. “That’s very sweet of him."

Blaine can practically feel breath against his lips when there’s a crash and a harsh, “Here you are!"

Blaine jerks back out of reflex, standing suddenly and only just noticing that the stranger is getting up, too.

"They’re after me!" They both say to each other at the same time, and then stare in alarm. “They’re after you?"

They really need to stop this.

"Father must have sent them, I can’t believe—"

But Blaine isn’t looking; they’re blocking practically the only way out and they need to go before they’re both lugging iron by their wrists. He whistles until Wes is climbing up his shoulder and hurries to the window, climbing up the crumbling stones and staring to where the stranger is fretting while also fuming (quite an interesting combination).

"Do you trust me?" He asks without thinking, glancing nervously over at the guards. They aren’t moving that quickly, but they probably think they have them cornered. The stranger turns to look at him, eyes wide with confusion.

"What?"

Blaine holds out his hand, eyes pleading.

"Do you trust me?"

The stranger slips his hand, slowly but definitely surely, into Blaine’s.

"Yes."

"Then jump!"


End file.
